Behind A Fair Façade
by TheTeaIsAddictive
Summary: Modern AU where the curse is in the law, France has been replaced by Scotland and everything is linked thematically.
1. Chapter 1

**Behind A Fair Façade**

**Chapter 1**

"Honestly, Papa, I'll be fine," seventeen-year-old Belle Lecteur smiled, burdened with a neon-pink suitcase, a black hold-all that was slowly cutting permanent grooves into her palm and the silver-and-purple hiking bag her mother had bought once many, many years ago. "The campus is very friendly, the guide said - and besides, it's not like I'm leaving you forever!"

"I know, I know," her father sighed, "but still, Belle - I'll miss you."

"Oh, come on, papa, it's not that long. Only eight weeks from now to October - and then I can come back here for two weeks." Belle looked up, drinking in what was possibly the last view of her home town - the high-rise buildings, the glittering river, the castle up high on the mountain - and closed her eyes in peace. Three months ago, she would never have dreamed of leaving her father alone and journeying off to a small town in the Scottish Highlands for at least three years of university; she'd have almost gasped in horror at the thought of seeming so callous as to leave her papa. But now . . .

"That's the train," Maurice observed, blinking vigorously as if he had something in his eye.

Sure enough, the familiar purple and blue locomotive pulled up to the small station, and Belle hugged her father fiercely, three full bags be damned, before struggling into the carriage. She barely had time to stow her luggage safely away and get a seat (unfortunately _not_ one with a table) before it pulled out the station. Silently she waved at the ever-decreasing solitary figure, before discreetly wiping at her eyes. Tears would be for later, when she was alone in her dorm room.

It wasn't until an hour had passed that Belle realised she hadn't even said goodbye.

* * *

Three changes, two awkward conversations and an unsatisfactory train meal later, Belle finally found herself at her destination : Dunbroch. It was a half-hour bus journey away from the university, and the furthest place Belle could go, within reason. As she lugged her cases up to the campus, which seemed to occupy the entire town, she found herself again worrying whether this was a good idea or not. It might have been better to go to the police after all - but then _he_ would have had to go to jail. Despite everything, Belle still couldn't wish that upon _him_. And besides, knowing the amount of horror stories she'd heard, they might not have even believed her.

As the path started to turn into a slight hill, Belle felt the strain on her calves and knees; they were hideously out of practice, even though she'd only taken a break for a few months. Belle was currently working as a member of the ensemble in a local production of 'Footloose', and surprisingly she'd actually made some good friends among the cast.

There was, of course, Mr Domarchy the bookseller, the first person she'd really felt friendly with since the move from Edinburgh. He had the best kind of bookshop - one that had hand-written signs with little quips on them, with a little coffee shop hidden in the centre for those who wanted to sip as they read. If you were brave enough to try one of his (always disgusting) 'new blend coffee's', it came free of charge.

The only other people Belle actually liked at the theatre group were the Gerard triplets, Celeste, Helen and Theresa. They were tall, blonde, identical seventeen-year-old's who had a ridiculous talent for dancing and a penchant for swooning over - _him_. That aside, the three of them were loyal to their friends, from what Belle had seen in school, and they weren't afraid to get in a screaming match if someone they loved was hurt. And yes, Belle was aware she was thinking about the three of them as a single unit, but it really was difficult to tell the difference between them unless you'd known them their whole lives. Still, she reflected, it wasn't like they were very close anyway. Belle and her father had lived in the village for nearly seven years, and until June she hadn't gotten so much as a hello from the triplets. They were really acquaintances, when she thought about it.

Turning around a tight corner, Belle was finally face to face with the university halls of residence.

"Wow," she murmured.

So apparently, she was staying in a castle.

* * *

The imposing grey stone walls towered above her, a strong rectangular main hall the focus of the eye. Four high towers at each of the compass points spiked high into the sky, with shimmering gild covering the turrets, battlements and cornerstones. For some reason Belle was reminded of the fairy tale her mother used to read to her every night.

_Once upon a time, there lived a young prince in a shining castle . . ._

Smiling slightly at the remembrance, Belle pushed open the door with the brunt of her weight, stumbling slightly into the reception area. It was almost pitch-black, filled with dark shadows and an overarching sense of finesse.

"Hello?" Belle called out. She wandered over to the desk, which was abandoned except for a small paper sign reading 'Be Back Soon!'. "Hello - is anyone there?" She shivered, and out of habit reached up to tug on her ponytail. "Hello?"

Behind her, a door opened, spilling light into the corridor. A short, dumpy silhouette slowly marched up behind Belle, nearly silent over the carpet in pink slippers.

"AAHH!"

* * *

**A/N: It is set in Scotland because I know nothing about French universities and I decided to make up one in the Scottish Highlands. **

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Belle cried out as the old woman toppled over. She managed to grab her dressing gown, but unfortunately wasn't able to save the little cup of tea. It fell straight down to the floor, the greedy carpet sucking up the liquid, but luckily didn't hit either Belle or the mysterious woman.

"Oh, it's quite alright dear; I suspect I was sneaking up on you anyway," she said, a smile colouring her voice even before the light was switched back on. In the sudden brightness that followed, Belle managed to get a good look at the kind woman. She seemed old - not frail, but certainly past the prime of life, as her snow-white hair confirmed. A pink-and-purple checkered dressing gown fitted snugly over the plainer white blouse and brown trousers she wore, which caused Belle to look at her small slippered feet - pink-and-purple checkered, like the dressing gown. Her face seemed one made for smiling, and her blue eyes twinkled merrily from their hollows.

"I'm Belle - Belle Lecteur," Belle smiled, awkwardly offering her hand between her three bags. "First year here - I'm sorry again for knocking you over!"

"And again it's quite alright; just an accident, and besides there's life in these old bones yet," the woman joked. "Now then," she said, settling into the deep red computer chair behind the desk, "you'll be wanting to know where in the halls you're staying."

"Yes please," Belle smiled, carefully laying her bags on the ground in front of the desk.

"Let's see . . . I'll need your name, date of birth and major, please."

"Belle Lecteur, 25th January 1996, English."

"All righty," the woman smiled, typing into the computer, "your dorm number and roommates should be on here in a second. I'm Mrs. Potts, by the way," she added. "I run the halls - or at least, I try to! Biscuit?" A large tin was plonked on the surface, with a once-young Queen Elizabeth emblazoned on it.

"If that's alright," Belle said, rummaging for a chocolate digestive. "Is it that bad here - the halls, I mean," she asked. "I don't mind a good party, but I thought that'd be nearer the university, not out here in the middle of -"

"Nowhere?" Mrs. Potts completed, smiling at Belle's embarrassment. "I don't mind, dear, but it only really gets manic here roundabout Hogmanay and Halloween. You'll have a quiet enough time studying." The computer dinged, and the old woman's fingers flew across the keyboard again. "All right," she announced, "you're in Pod 205, sharing with Lewis Cogsworth, Jean-Paul Lumière, Babette Gillenormande and Adam Darensbourg. The pods are mixed-gender, as you can tell, and have five bedrooms leading off from a main living area and a small kitchenette. There is also the option of dining in our own facilities. You can buy your own food, but remember not to stretch beyond what you've budgeted; we would really love to help you out if you need it, but the university simply doesn't have the funds to do so every time a student under-budgets. You will be expected to clean your own rooms . . ."

Belle had stopped listening, panicked, the moment her four roommates were mentioned. _Roommates. _She knew for a fact she'd applied for a single flat - they had some free, she'd checked on the website, so why was she sharing? Going away from home for the first time ever would be hard enough without having to cater in four _other_ people, and while Mrs. Potts was friendly enough it was highly likely that most other people weren't, and maybe they'd hate her and she'd be stuck with four people that hated her for at least 9 months, and oh no oh no oh no oh -

"Belle?"

The woman's uneasy enquiry snapped Belle out of her inward spiral of panic almost immediately, causing her to reach up again for her hair, now tugging on it so hard little tendrils ripped off into her hands. _Just like the last time _he_ was near you, _she remembered against her will, and she shuddered.

"I'm - I'm sorry." Belle swallowed hard, commanding her breathing to slow, and she steadied her gaze on Mrs. Potts once again. "Is it possible you have me under a different name? Could you try searching for Katriane Lecteur instead?" She received a worried look that gave the older woman the impression of a white wrinkled raisin, but the fingers flew anyway.

"I'm sorry, child, but it looks like you're sharing. Your application did come in only a few weeks before the deadline - I expect they had trouble fitting you in." A comforting hand was laid over Belle's, and for the first time she got a smell of the old lady (sugar and peppermint, oddly enough). "I'm sure it can't be that bad, and if for some reason it is, you need to come to me and say so - that's my job!" The two of them chuckled, and Belle put her hair back into her signature ponytail.

"Well, thank you," Belle said, "you've made me feel a lot better. I'm sorry, again about - well, you know." Humming the opening number of Footloose under her breath, Belle dragged her bags up and made her way towards the lift as quietly as possible.

_I've got this feeling, that times just holdin' me down . . . I'll hit the ceiling, or else I'll tear up this town!_

* * *

**A/N: The pods (residence halls? I don't know what to call them) are based off of the University of Westminster's website. And now, because apparently I cannot write chapters more than 1000 words, we will hopefully get Actual Interaction between Belle and Adam next chapter! **

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Adam Darensbourg lay face-up on top of his bed, mentally preparing himself for meeting his fifth and final roommate. He was already irritated that it was 10:30 PM and they still weren't here; but added to that he could hear Cogsworth babbling on to the other mature student about clocks, or candlesticks, or something like that, and the girl - Cosette or Babette, he thought she was called - was mumbling something in that annoyingly high-pitched voice she had. He was still fuming that his older cousin had followed him to university for the last three years when he'd left to get away from him - and not only that, but this year they were sharing a pod. Adam had made his feelings towards Lewis _very_ clear the last time they had seen each other, with only the overhanging threat of the law stopping them from having an outright fistfight on the street. Ever since his parents had died and Cogsworth had been named Adam's legal guardian, an undeniable loathing had grown between the two. Adam maintained that it was Cogsworth's dismissive attitude towards his Franco-Scottish heritage that had started the rift, while the older man had always stated his cousin's rudeness and bad temper had made it clear from the start they would never get along. Whatever the original reason, it had been so deeply buried under nearly ten years worth of arguments that both Adam and Cogsworth refused to apologise to each other for the fateful snub.

Adam huffed out a lungful of air, turning his head to survey his room - and, of course, the many boxes he hadn't bothered unpacking yet. Through the small window just above a wooden IKEA desk it was possible to see the grey high-rises of the university city in the daytime, and just now an orange-yellow glow that was lumped in the centre of the landscape. Beside the window was a small, narrow wardrobe made of dark-painted plywood with interior mirror doors, and a small mirror and washbasin attached to the wall, nearly hidden behind the wardrobe completed the west side of the room. He flopped his head to the right, taking in the bedside cabinet, bookshelf and storage drawer, all made with the same fake wood material as the wardrobe. Four large boxes and two little ones were shoved into the east side of his room, nearly completely obscuring a path to the door that pudgy, short-legged Cogsworth would never be able to get through.

_So this is home, now,_ Adam thought as he curled up on his still unmade bed. He could have tidied his stuff away as soon as he arrived, except for the fact that he knew it would irritate Cogsworth. That was what he like to do in life now, he reflected. Read good books, and irritate his older cousin. He cast a quick glance at the wardrobe before pushing himself up slowly. There was _one_ thing he had bothered to unpack, but only because it mattered infinitely more to him than books or comfort or even his anger.

It was the most precious thing he owned, and all he had left of his parents.

* * *

"No, no, no, no, no, I comp_lete_ly disagree, Dickens _cannot_ write good women!" Lewis Cogsworth, 37 years old and going back to university as a mature student both for a degree in Law and to watch over his young, irresponsible cousin, wondered briefly for a moment how he had managed to get into a heated debate with one of the other flat mates about the strengths and weaknesses of various Victorian writers. The discussion with the French man had started innocently enough, discussing the differences in architecture between Paris and Edinburgh - although come to think of it, it was a puzzle as to how they got onto that subject either . . . _But no matter, _he thought. _Continue the line of argument!_ "Compare, for example, Nancy and Rose Maylie, from one of his most famous works, Oliver Twist! The one is interesting, captivating, innovating - the other -"

"A model of female virtue, _mon ami._" Jean-Paul Lumière, tall, thin, and worst of all, argumentative, had somehow managed to find the chink in Cogsworth's armour that would inevitably bring him crashing down in rage. The Parisian Art History major smirked in triumph, and turned back around to the hob where a small pot of hot chocolate was simmering.

"A model of female - a _model_ of female virtue, how _dare_ you suggest such a thing!" Cogsworth roared. "She's weak! Lily-livered! A quivering coward next to the outstanding strength and ferocity of -"

"Ah, excuse me, but are you Lewis Cogsworth, Jean-Paul Lumière, Babette Gillenormande and Adam Darensbourg?"

The three older students turned to see a young girl, heavily burdened with bags and a small print-out, stand half-in and half-out the door to their pod. It was obvious looking at her that if she had a good nights sleep and a severe hair-brushing, she would be considered outstanding. As it was, her beauty was almost painfully noticeable, as was her shyness.

Lumière was the first to react, smiling with sincerity as he ushered her in, saying, "_Oui_, mademoiselle, you are in the correct room. I take it you are the fifth roommate?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding once (only once, Cogsworth noted with a strange feeling of importance), "yes, I am. My name is Belle Lecteur."

"Charmed to meet you. I am Jean-Paul, but please, call me Lumièree - everyone does," he said with a wink that somehow seemed fatherly rather than flirty. "This is Babette, _ma belle amie_," Lumière added, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You're French?" Belle asked, a smile creeping over her features.

"_Mais oui, mademoiselle,_" he smiled, a look of recognition flooding over his face. "_Vous êtes également français? Où venez-vous?"_

"_Edimbourg_, but more recently, Galashiels," Belle replied, going back into English. "Oh, I'm sorry," she exclaimed as she caught sight of a very confused-looking Cogsworth, "I didn't catch your name."

"I am Lewis Cogsworth, third year Law degree, and it's quite alright," he said, again noting the girl's visible relief when he wasn't angry.

"And where is Adam? Unless I'm not the last person here, should he have arrived as well?" Cogsworth cast an involuntary glance back at the bedroom door; hopefully Adam was asleep and couldn't hear Belle's questions. Normally he'd be fine, but the stress of a new school year and the unfortunate computer error that roomed them together had made his temper even more unpredictable than usual, not to mention that the clause in his parents will would be approaching its deadline soon. He looked helplessly at Lumiére and Babette for help.

"Adam is here, certainly," Babette piped up for the first time since the younger woman arrived, "but, ah, _il est de mauvaise humeur_, so it's best not to talk too much about him."

"Why not? Afraid I'll start throwing things around the room like a crazed maniac?"

All four of them spun around in guilty unison to see the subject of their discussion popping his head around the half-open bedroom door. His jaw was set tight, and a look of hatred pierced his eyes as he caught sight of Belle.

_Oh, dear._

* * *

**A/N: So the French wasn't too extreme here, but I'll probably be including it more in later chapters. Here, Lumière asks "You're also French? Where do you come from?"**

**Babette says, "he has a bad temper."**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The room was frozen in a state of tension, all five students caught in each other's gaze. Lumière's hot milk lay abandoned simmering on the hob, a small wooden spoon abandoned in the bubbling liquid. Belle's black bag was digging sharply into her hand, so hard she was sure two deep grooves would be eternally carved into her left palm. Babette's eyes were wide with fear, and she was cowering behind Lumière's arm as if the scrawny man could protect her from all evil. Cogsworth, Belle noticed, was hurriedly schooling his face into something other than guilt - _anything_ other than guilt, she imagined.

The mysterious Adam she saved for last, merely because she was afraid to look at him with fear in her eyes. He was half-in, half-out of his room by now, and it was clear he was not a man easily intimidated. He was tall - at least 6", Belle speculated - and from what she could see of the right side of his body he clearly spent a lot of time at the gym - either that, or he did a lot of physical labour. But she dismissed that theory almost immediately: there was too much pride in his bearing for him to be the kind of person to sweat all day in the sun doing hard work for low pay. His hair was unlike any she'd seen before, a reddish-blond colour worn long in a ponytail - the only other person she knew who grew his hair out like that was _him_ - and his eyes she saved for last. Belle had hoped to sneak everything in while Adam was occupied in glaring at Babette, but with almost animalistic swiftness he turned so that she was trapped in eye contact with him. Furious expression aside, they were a bright, clear blue, like the sky. She found herself abstractly wondering if he spent all his time looking furious, and if not, what he looked like when a frown as grave as a father's judging stare wasn't masking his face.

"Well?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "What's the matter? Scared of me, are you?"

"Adam," Cogsworth muttered under his breath, "I will _not_ permit you to lose your temper at these people -"

"Will not permit me - will not _permit_ me, ha!" He bounded out of the room in three long strides and stood nose-to-nose with Cogsworth - or rather, nose-to-chest, Adam towering over the older man by several inches. "You stopped being in charge of me three years ago, _Cogsworth_," he spat out, "and despite what you think, I _am_, in fact, doing something with my life, so will you kindly -"

"Why are you so angry? He's only trying to help!" The words were out of Belle's mouth before her better judgement could tuck them safely away in her mind. Adam turned the full brunt of his anger to her, a predator re choosing his prey, and she was again reminded of _him_, the many times he'd yelled at her, screamed at her, hit her - _Focus, Lecteur, dammit!_ She straightened up, determined to give as good as she got.

"Who're you? The fifth roommate?" His eyes flashed fire, if it were possible for blue eyes to do so, and only Cogsworth's rather stout body and whatever shred of decency Adam had left stopped him marching straight up to Belle. "What took you so long? In case you hadn't noticed, it's 10:30! _Some_ of us have better things to do than wait up all night for -"

"Alright, listen here, because I am going to say this tonight once and once only," Belle interrupted, with some hidden inner anger she didn't know she possessed dictating her words and making her voice unforgiving as ice. "I have been journeying since 11 this morning, I have taken _three_ different trains to get here, and I had to walk alone through Dunbroch at night with three _very_ heavy bags, only to find out that I did not, in fact, get the single flat I wanted. I am not in the mood to get into a proper argument tonight, and as soon as I can I will be looking for a transfer, _believe_ me. So don't go losing your temper at me, because I am too tired for this right now!" Belle flicked her hair out her face, picked her bags up and stalked across the pod to the only door with a 'Welcome!' sign still on it, shutting it firmly behind her.

A brief look of astonishment, anger and indecision flickered across Adam's face, before he stalked back across to his room, slamming the door loudly.

"What just happened?" Lumière asked, an arm still in front of the frozen Babette.

"I'm not sure," Cogsworth said slowly, "but it was certainly impressive."

* * *

Belle sat on her bed, exhausted. In the hour since Adam had exploded at them she had made her bed, put away her clothes, packed the bookshelf from top to bottom (and still have a massive pile of books in the storage drawer) and arranged her books perfectly on her study desk. She could still hear Cogsworth, Lumière and Babette talking outside, but their voices were lower, so she couldn't make out the exact words. Sighing, Belle opened the final bag; the silver and purple monstrosity that had belonged to her mother, which her father had packed. The first thing that greeted Belle was her favourite photo of her mother, in black and white and embraced in a silver frame. Belle was five at the time, and she was half-asleep in her mothers arms. Her mother was looking at the camera, a book in her other hand, smiling at Maurice.

"I miss you, Mamma," she whispered, swallowing hard as she brushed her mother's face with her fingertip. Her eyes started burning, and her vision blurred as Belle allowed one single tear to overflow and splash onto her only memory of Celine Lecteur. Against her will, more tears spilled out of her thickly-lashed eyes, and Belle fruitlessly tried to wipe them away. A small sob was pulled from her chest, and slowly, still crying quietly, she sank back onto her bed, pressing the picture to her chest. _He will not hear me cry, _she chanted in her head, _he will not hear me cry._

Sobbing into her pillow, Belle slowly fell asleep, wondering whether or not she'd made a mistake when she left her father - and _him_.

**A/N: So these chapters will probably be more thematically linked to scenes in the movie than direct modern equivalents :)**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Hello again, Mrs. Potts," Belle smiled. It was the end of her first week at the University of Inverness, and Belle found with some surprise that she actually _liked_ the freedom of campus life. The classes were fulfilling, her fellow students civil, if not always polite, and plenty of extra-curricular activities kept Belle occupied in the spare moments she wasn't studying or trying to avoid the ginger elephant in the room. She'd managed to get a job on the school newspaper as a book reviewer on grace, as the previous one had just graduated and nobody had seemed to care if a first-year replaced the senior, and after asking around a bit, she'd soon found a theatre group meeting nearby every Saturday.

Lumière and Cogsworth, she soon found, were locked in a deadly, do-or-die, love/hate relationship that meant she and Babette spent most of their time trying to get the two of them to suck it up and get on with their various flat duties - Lumière cooked, Cogsworth did the dishes, Babette hoovered the living area, Belle tackled the bathroom, and Adam did the shopping - while flattering their egos into making then think they were the better man for being so 'gracious and forgiving'. However, Cogsworth and Lumière weren't the only two who argued almost constantly. Belle found her first impression of Adam to improve no better on acquaintance, and he certainly seemed to dislike her as much as she did him. True to her word, Belle had tried the very next day to switch rooms, but it hadn't gone well.

"I'm sorry child, but unless he's being violent towards you, there's nothing we can do," Mrs. Potts had said earlier that week, sympathy colouring her eyes as she sipped at her cup of tea. "Is he? - being violent, I mean?" she had asked, fingers at the ready to type away if needed.

"No," Belle had sighed, "he's just - well - did you know that the first thing that grows in an embryo is the anus?"

"I did," Mrs. Potts said slowly.

"Well let's just say he hasn't quite developed past the stage of being a total arse."

A tense pause happened when Belle wondered with bated breath whether she had crossed a line. But suddenly, in an explosion of noise, a low, very _English-sounding_ laugh had been drawn out of the old woman, before she clapped a hand over her mouth, hissing, "Shh, Belle, don't make jokes like that, my grandson's only nine!"

"You still laughed," Belle had teased, before she noticed the time and raced towards the bus, a hasty goodbye flung over her shoulder.

Now, Mrs. Potts nodded once, absorbed in her telephone conversation. "Yes, Sir, I quite understand, but we simply do not have the _funds_ to provide a maid service." She paused. "Well I realise it's just for _your_ son, sir, but if word gets out that there's maid service going on either everyone will want one or they'll form a mob because your son doesn't do his own laundry, sir." Chuckling to herself, Belle jogged upstairs and let herself in with the key card, only to find Lumière and Babette passionately kissing on a chair.

"_Ah, l'amour,_" she sighed once, causing the two of them to jerk apart almost immediately. "Nobody home?" she continued, perusing the fridge for a snack.

"No," Babette said, patting her hair into place, "Cogsworth is at class and Adam is . . . _ah, quel est le mot . . . il travaille _. . . He's working."

"Oh yeah, I've been wondering about that," Belle said, rinsing a blood-red apple. "What does he do? Does anyone know?"

"Course-wise, or job-wise?" Lumière asked, stretching cat-like until his arms were wrapped around Babette again.

"Both, I suppose," Belle replied, perching on the end of the wicker-backed dining set, before crunching into the apple.

"Well, Cogsworth doesn't know anything about what he's studying, but apparently Adam has a job at the bar in town."

"You mean the pub," Belle corrected.

"Bar, pub - same difference," Lumière scoffed, and Belle made her escape, shaking her head and laughing.

* * *

"Adam, the point still stands that you only have five months until you inherit your parent's will! You _must_ be able to prove to the executor that you can fulfil the criteria left behind, or you will be left with _nothing_!" Cogsworth slammed his water down on the weathered oak bar that stood between him and his cousin, causing several patrons to turn around with disinterested curiosity. Adam's fingers tightened noticeably around the edge of the bar, but with considerable restraint he did not attempt to beat the other man up - he needed this job as it was his only source of income at the moment, and it was too early in the season to go into the city and busk.

"I don't have much right now, and I'm doing alright - what makes you think I need Mum and Dad's money?" He avoided looking directly into Cogsworth's eyes, instead taking pleasure in imagining exactly how he could batter him if they weren't in a public place.

"I don't think you understand, Adam - it's not just the money, although that is under the condition as well. They left _everything_ you could inherit to the executor's discretion; including items that may already be in your possession."

"What!?" Cogsworth missed Adam grabbing his shirt and pulling him across the bar by a hairs width, as a blind panic settled over him. They couldn't do that - they couldn't take the photographs, the old furniture, the house, even the instrument . . . could they? "That's not possible, I _own_ those things, the executor can't take them away!" This time the other men turned around in genuine interest; it had been a while since they'd seen Adam lose his temper, and it always proved worthy if attention.

"I'm afraid she can," Cogsworth said with genuine regret. "You know as well as I do what it says - 'if he can prove he has a true heart, and receives another in return -'"

"'By his twenty-first birthday, then he shall inherit all', yes, yes I _KNOW_!" Adam yelled, slamming his hand on the many-ringed bar, his quick-fired temper dying down as suddenly as it had flamed up. "Why did they even write that - did they not think I was true of heart when they made that will?" He tugged his hair out its customary ponytail, letting it fan out over his shoulders.

"Why does anyone do anything?" Cogsworth supplied, chugging down the last of his water. "Take _my_ advice, cousin," he said, placing a fiver next to Adam's hand, "and try talking to that Belle girl. She seems nice enough, and who knows? Maybe she'll be the one who's true if heart?"

He sauntered off, the door quietly slamming behind him - if such a thing were possible - and Adam was left alone with his thoughts as a buzz of conversation filled the pub once more. _What harm can it do? _he thought, flipping a dish towel over his shoulder. _I'll ask her out to dinner - but _without_ Cogsworth in the room. Smug little twit._

**A/N: There isn't actually a university of Inverness, mine is entirely fictional :) And this is his modern curse - the reasoning behind Adam's parents will (and, of course, their cause of death) will be explored later, but if I forget to say why, please tell me in reviews :)**

**The final insult Adam uses could be coarser, but as this is only a T rating I wanted to wait and see if people are alright with stronger language before I turn the pages blue :D**

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Alright, Adam,_ he thought, _don't mess this up just now. All you need to do is ask her how she is. That's _all_ you need to do. _He glanced at her, the familiar churning feeling in his gut resurfacing whenever he needed to ask something of anyone. It wasn't her beauty that caused this reaction - although she was truly stunning, her hair glossy and her eyes bright. Adam just hated the idea of making nice to her, when it was plain to everybody in the pod that Belle and Adam harboured a healthy measure of contempt towards each other. He supposed on Belle's part it was fair enough to dislike him - he had, after all, screamed at her on her first night there and done nothing to improve on his first impression in the three weeks they'd been living together. Adam, on the other hand, found it hard to remember why he had lashed out at her in the first place when she seemed genuinely nice, if bossy, stubborn and nosy. He wasn't used to retracting his judgements - after his parents died, Adam had quickly learned how to read between the lines of what people said and what they did, and judging accordingly. And now, he had to suck it up and apologise to someone.

_Great._

"Uh, Belle?"

"Yes?" she asked without looking up from her book, a scowl masking her face and cooling her voice.

"How . . ." His heart started racing. "How . . ." She was looking at him now, doing that thing where she raised only one of her eyebrows; it infuriated him, and from the look in her eyes he guessed Belle knew it. "How . . . are your classes going?"

_Oh yeah, smart move, Adam. 'How are your classes?' UGH. You sound like a dad. Or worse, _her_ dad. Or _even_ worse, _Cogsworth_. Idiot._

The confusion showed plainly on Belle's face as well, and slowly she answered,

"Fine." She went back to reading her book - it was hard to tell whether for class or pleasure.

_Okay Adam, you've successfully spoken to her, now ask what she's redding! Ask her. Ask her. Ask. Her. Ask. Her. Ask. Her. Ask-_

"What are you reading? Some crap by Jane Austen?" _NO. NO. NO. ALL YOU NEEDED TO DO WAS ASK WHAT SHE WAS READING, NOT INSULT HER TASTE YOU MORON!_ She glared up at him, and stood up from her chair with all the regality of a queen.

"Brontë, actually. 'Villette', if you don't mind. Although I'm not sure you would - have you even _read_ a classic?" She turned, tossed her hair over her shoulder with a quick head flip, and stalked over to her bedroom, closing the door firmly without slamming it.

"_J'ai lu les classiques, et les femmes sont beaucoup moins ennuyeux que vous!_" Adam hissed viciously in Belle's general direction.

"_Comment ossez-vous!_" Belle shouted, the door flying open and crashing into the wall. Her eyes flashed fire, and she marched straight up to Adam, practically spitting fire from her mouth. "_Je ne suis pas ennuyeux - vous êtes celui qui est tout à fait exaspérant!_"

"_Vous êtes français?_" In Adam's confusion-tainted panic, he remained speaking in French, the language he'd grown up hearing his father speak in hushed tones over the phone. When he eventually learned it, he learned the name of his fathers mistress, along with all her nicknames.

"Don't change the subject," Belle shouted, changing the language. "Why did you even ask about my book if you think I'm so annoying - why did you even talk to me?!"

Adam's jaw clenched, as he chanted in his head, _Do not hit her do not hit her do. Not. Hit. Her._ He had never been particularly violent towards anyone, but he just wanted her to shut up and stop acting so _pretentious_.

"I don't know why I did either, _vous salope!_" he yelled. Belle froze, horror and outrage painted on her face in a way that was almost comical if Adam hadn't been so angry. "I'm going out," he muttered, as he marched across to the door and slammed it behind him, rattling the cutlery drawer.

"_Connard_," Belle spat out with venom, before returning once more to her room.

* * *

Cogsworth, Lumière and Babette had all been poring over their various study materials in the one bedroom while the heating was out in Cogsworth and Babette's rooms, Belle opting to grab a blanket and read alone, when they heard someone slightly stuttering through what sounded vaguely like an attempt at conversation.

"Oh no, Adam, just spit it out!" Cogsworth muttered, glaring at his brick-sized textbook just a little harder than he had a second ago.

"What is he trying to say?" Babette asked, carefully flipping over onto her stomach.

"He's attempting to be civil to Belle," Cogsworth replied.

"Why? I thought they hated each other?" Lumière shut his Musical Theory book quietly, and tiptoed over to the door.

"Well, I suppose it's no harm telling you -but you mustn't breathe a word of this to Belle, understood?" The two French people nodded in agreement, before Cogsworth sighed and continued. "Are you aware of the scandal that followed the wills of the Darensbourg's after their deaths?"

"You mean where they practically disinherited their son?" Lumière asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes, yes - well that's not quite the case. If Adam can find someone true of heart and prove that his own is true by his 21st birthday, he will inherit as usual, but if not, he'll be left with nothing."

"So what does Belle have to do with it? And why can't we tell her?" Babette stretched out, nearly knocking Cogsworth's reading glasses off his head.

"It's a legal requirement - the late Mr. and Mrs. Darensbourg thought that if the girl - or rather, _person_, they weren't gender-specific - if the _person_ knew about the details of the will, they'd just be in it for the money."

"Fair enough," Babette shrugged, pushing herself up on the bed.

"Oh dear," Lumière said absently from his position at the door.

"What?" Cogsworth asked, finally putting his textbook to the floor.

"Adam doesn't seem to know Belle speaks French, and he just called her annoyi -"

"_Comment ossez-vous_!" Belle's outraged voice carried easily through the flimsy walls.

"What is she saying?" Cogsworth asked, folding up his glasses.

"Uhh . . . she's annoyed he called her annoying when he is, I quote, completely infuriating."

"And let me guess, my dear cousin is spluttering about trying to understand how she understood him," Cogsworth said.

"Bingo," Lumière replied.

"I don't know why I did either, _vous salope_!"

Lumière and Babette both flinched at the insult, as Cogsworth asked, "What? What did he say at the end?"He called her a bitch," Babette said, "and she - she called him -"

"Something I do not think you would like to hear your family being called, _mon ami,_" Lumière interrupted.

They all jumped at the two slamming doors.

"Well," Cogsworth said dourly, "that certainly went well."

**A/N: I'm pretty sure just about every phrase was explained in the Lumière/Cogsworth/Babette dialogue, but if not just go to google translate :)**

**To clear up timelines/confusion - this is taking place in 2013, late August right now. Rest assured we will (eventually) get through the rest of the year!**

**Reviews make me happy :)**

**Side note - it's important to me that Belle has definite, definable faults, so she probably won't be coming off as 'perfect' as she does in the movie :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Possible trigger warning for domestic abuse (emotional) and violence. Please don't read if you feel at all uncomfortable. **

**Chapter 7**

Belle spent the next few weeks studiously avoiding Adam with the utmost skill - if he came into the pod, she had already disappeared into her bedroom at the sound of his feet; whenever it was his turn to cook the evening meal, Belle sneaked off to the canteen; if she saw him walking (seemingly) towards her, she would immediately change her direction. Neither of them had apologised for the fight yet, and Belle was waiting with bated breath for the fallout. Whenever she'd disagreed with _him_ in the past, he'd wait at least three days before, as ever, he made her pay.

It had started out innocently enough. He was easily the hottest boy in school, and once or twice they'd had conversations about reasonably intellectual subjects - the difficulty of their maths class, the imagery used in Shakespeare plays they studied - until eventually, he asked her out. Belle had said yes right away, pleased that for once somebody wasn't obsessed with her appearance but had actually gotten to know her, and for about two months all was well. But then her father went away for his annual stock-gathering trip, and Belle elected (secretly, of course) to stay with _him_. He was alone for the summer - his father was away lecturing in America - and Belle was lonely by herself: it only made sense for her to stay with him, he'd said. It's not like she had anywhere else to go.

It started small. Since they were so great together, why did she have to go out with her friends _every_ week? Surely they'd understand if she cut it down to once a fortnight? It only made sense, he argued, and Belle agreed - if they couldn't accept that sometimes she needed to spend more time with her boyfriend, then they clearly weren't good friends. After a while, after their first time, he mentioned he didn't like the way the other boys in her year looked at Belle when they were all out with the triplets. Maybe she should stop seeing them as often. Belle again agreed - reluctantly, as she had grown to like the three blondes, but she agreed nonetheless. She couldn't exactly do something he wouldn't like - she was staying under his roof out of the goodness of his heart! And so the mountain of things he didn't want Belle doing piled up, until she was practically a live-in member of staff, cooking for him, cleaning, terrified every minute that he might find somebody else he liked better. Until the day he crossed the last of Belle's lines.

It was Midsummers Day, and Belle had been bored in the kitchen, heating up some tomato soup, when _he_ had barged in in a mighty temper, shouting at the top of his voice about how stupid and worthless Mr. Domarchy was. "It's not his fault," Belle had murmured, quietly stirring away.

"Not his fault?" In hindsight, Belle should have known something was wrong when _he_ had said it quietly, instead of yelling at her right away. "Not his fault - Belle, you stupid bitch - EVERYTHING'S HIS FAULT!" He'd grabbed her wrists so tightly they had bruises for a week, spun her around and trapped her between the bubbling soup and his chest. "Do you think I don't care what people think of me?"

"George -" Belle had pleaded, squirming away from the hot stove, "George, let me go -"

"DO YOU?!"

"I don't, I don't George, Mr. Domarchy was wrong, it was all his fault, but please, please let me go," she had sobbed, the heat on her back nearly unbearable.

"DO YOU THINK HE WAS WRONG?!"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Domarchy was wrong, you're right, you're always right, always, now _please_ let go of me, George, please!" He abruptly released her, and Belle fell to the floor, shaking and crying.

"Where have you been getting those ideas from, Belle?" He had crouched down beside her, his pale blue eyes steel in the light of the gas stove. "Hmm? Where did you get the notion that it wasn't Domarchy's fault trapped in your pretty little head?" He dragged her to her feet, and Belle was suddenly, horribly reminded that not only was George two years older than her, he was twice her size and a lot stronger. Fear, the cold, malicious little being, filled her stomach, and she struggled against him with adrenaline-fuelled strength, trying vainly to stamp on his feet. He'd thrown her across the room, and the last thing Belle remembered before her head cracked against the mantelpiece of the old Victorian fireplace was the look on George's face.

Repulsion.

About ten minutes later, Belle had come to, lying in the ashes of previous nights fire with blood matting her hair. It was the final straw for her, the only thing she could completely justify as being Not. Okay. Scared for her life, Belle had slowly paced through the back roads to her house on the outside of town, packed a small bag, and hitchhiked to the town her father was staying in. He hadn't believed her when Belle said she had fallen over, but he hadn't pressed her either, and for that Belle truly appreciated him. She spent the rest of the summer hiding away in their house, reading old classics and looking up the furthest university from Galashiels while staying in Scotland.

So now Belle was in Dunbroch. She no longer felt terrified every time somebody lost their temper (her father tinkering with his mechanics soon stopped that), the small wound on the back of her head had healed nicely after the stitches, and she was far away from _him_ - far away from George Castin. And now she'd gone and blown it with another short-tempered man who had the capacity to do significant damage to her.

She really was a stupid bitch.

**A/N: Okay. Heavy stuff, I know, and a little shorter than usual, but I really needed to get them to this point - back stories all explained to the audience, if not to each other - so we can start on the wow-maybe-Belle-and-Adam-don't-actually-hate-each- other part of the story. I have never experienced an abusive relationship, so all guidelines I used to form George's abuse are taken from articles seen online. About the name - I deliberately tried to get Belle and Adam similar to each other in that they are both second-generation French immigrants with mixed-nationality parents (one Scottish, one French), and that means giving most of the villagers Anglican-sounding names. So Gaston becomes George Castin. If Belle seems OOC for even going out with George in the first place, then so be it. **

**Any other questions, please PM me. **

**Reviews make me happy :)**

**Also, school is really picking up right now, so if I don't update as often, that's the reason :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"You need to apologise to her, Adam," Cogsworth said for the fifth time that evening, twiddling his thumbs over his glass of water.

"But why should _I_ apologise - she was the one who started it by acting so high-and-mighty!" Adam growled for the fourth time that evening, perfectly aware he sounded like a child. "I can see you rolling your eyes, by the way," he added, as Cogsworth took a sip of his drink that involved tipping his head all the way back.

"I did no such thing," Cogsworth said, stroking gently at his moustache. "And besides Adam, if I've said it once I've said it a hundred times - you need to learn to control your temper!" He jumped as Adam clunked down another glass of water with particular violence, his fingers clenched so hard they were white around the edges.

"How will _that_ help me?" he spat out. "The damage is done. She thinks I'm an asshole - she said so herself!" Adam exhaled sharply, shoulders deflating with the effort, and reached up to tighten his ponytail.

"Apologise!" Cogsworth repeated. "Ask her to dinner! Maybe Lumière can help - he seems to know more about this sort of thing that _you_ do, anyway -"

"Wait, why does _Lumière_ know about this?" Adam interrupted. "I thought it was required that the woman - _person_ in question was either unaware of the criteria or didn't care about the money?"

"In case you didn't notice, dear cousin," Cogsworth smirked, "Lumière has a girlfriend. I _highly_ doubt he would be looking for another relationship right now. And besides, I had to tell them _why_ you decided to make such an idiot out of yourself with the 'Classic Novels' fiasco." He downed the water and fumbled around in his pocket for some change, ignoring the younger mans rather comical look of barely suppressed rage.

"How did you hear about that - did _she_ tell you?" _I bet she did, the little know-it-all,_ Adam thought.

"_Belle_ didn't tell us anything - she hasn't even mentioned it," Cogsworth said, looking down at Adam as much as the shorter man could. "We were in the other room." With that, Cogsworth chucked some coins on the grainy bar, hopped the (for him) considerable difference from the stool to the floor, and sauntered out.

"I'm going to kill him one of these days," Adam said to the air.

"Not in my bar, you're not," his boss snapped from behind him. "Get back to work, Darensbourg, your shift doesn't end for another hour."

* * *

Belle laid her head against the shuddering window of the bus, keeping one hand clamped tightly around her bag. The dreary October sky provided little escape from the drearier thoughts Belle had been trying to shake off all day, and she found herself dreading the approach to the residence halls. No matter how many eloquent arguments she staged in her head, no matter the reasoning she used, Belle couldn't escape the fear that Adam was still holding a grudge against her for the argument they'd had the other day. She had never felt in physical fear of him after Cogsworth let slip that Adam was never physically violent unless the other party threw the first punch, but it was the smaller things Belle wasn't looking forward to. Glaring at her across the room, insulting her taste in books - the sort of thing that made it particularly unpleasant to live with someone.

The bus braked to a halt, slowly, then all at once, and Belle swung her bag up, forced her way past the hordes of students taking up leg room in the aisle, and muttered a thank you to the bus driver. Rain beat down on her, and shivering, Belle trudged towards the residence halls.

Out the corner of her eye, Belle saw the old local pub with its diamond-panes windows and bust of Queen Victoria looming ominously above the door. The wind picked up even more, and a deluge of rain fell suddenly on her head. Making her decision, Belle bustled into the warmth of the pub, shaking out her hair.  
When she looked up, who should she see but Adam Darensbourg, staring at her behind the bar in mild shock.

_Great._

**A/N: I'm sorry I've been away so long, but Real Life decided to step in and incapacitate me with a horrendous cold. I will be back to normal soon!**

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

A tidal wave of rain poured down the windows of the old pub, and Belle and Adam stayed frozen in their respective positions. She had never seen him like this - never seen him in the middle of working, doing something other than the mysterious degree which nobody knew about, or picking fights with her over something not meant to be overheard. The steady drip of her wet jacket on the floor became the strange leading melody in a melée of sound - the hum of the fridge, the even monotone voice of the distant newscaster on TV, the beating wind and howling rain, the deep rumble of the dishwasher, the soft sound the dishcloth made when it fell through Adam's fingers, and their own unsteady breathing.

"I can - I can go . . ." Belle said quietly, barely audible over the pouring rain. "I didn't know you were here - I probably need to -"

"Stay," Adam said louder, the sound jarring across the otherwise deserted pub. "It's still pouring outside. You'll be soaked." Hesitantly, Belle approached the bar, swinging herself onto a stool just far enough from Adam to be socially acceptable, yet make it clear she didn't want to talk to him. They stared ahead of them, fixated on their respective views: Belle on the collection of old wine bottles in front of her, and Adam on the sheets of water attacking the windowpanes. In the absence of a ticking clock, Adam drummed his fingers on the weathered wood, and Belle found herself wondering why he was being - for him - nice to her.

"Uh - would you like something to drink?" Belle snapped her head around, regretting it slightly when the ends of her hair slapped against her face, to see Adam chewing the inside of his lip, clearly as uncomfortable as she was.

"Could I have some - some coffee, please," she asked. She wasn't in the mood to be mocked by him because she dared to order such a 'hipster' drink as tea. And besides, it wasn't like Belle _hated_ coffee. "A cappuccino, if that's alright?"

"Sure," he said. "One cappuccino coming up." She could tell from the look on his face that Adam knew she preferred tea, but to his credit he said nothing about it.

The sudden gurgle of the machine coming to life caused Belle to nearly jump off her seat in shock, and she was glad Adam hadn't been facing her. _It would've been one more thing for him to mock me about, with those stupid, mocking pretentious eyes,_ she thought. _Don't you think you're _kind of _blowing this thing out if proportion?_ a smaller part of her asked. _Be quiet,_ Belle admonished. _The last thing I need is to start arguing with myself comprehensively - then I really _will_ be the crazy mechanic's daughter._ Her phone buzzed loudly from the recesses of her bag, and she mouthed a "Sorry," at Adam before rifling through it.

"Hey," she sang, spinning off the stool and beginning to pace up and down, "this is Belle Lecteur."

"Belle," a vaguely familiar voice said, "It's me, Resa Gerard? It's about George - and your dad. He's looking for you."

* * *

Adam turned back to the cappuccino machine, Belle's rain-soaked form just visible out the corner of his eye. He may have been more familiar with pouring a draft, but before Adam had taken this job, he'd been a barista in Costa for all his first year. He watched with a careful eye for the instant when there was no more room in the mug for the foam water and coffee, before flicking the switch off and exchanging the cup for an old rag. He laid it carefully on the counter, and glanced around for Belle. As if summoned by the knowledge her drink was ready and waiting, the short girl paced back into view, still talking on the phone.

"Well, are you sure?" Belle rested her hand on the bar, left hip jutting out and hair falling over her right shoulder - the picture of nonchalance, if you ignored her rapidly tapping index finger. "Okay. Okay, I'll remember." A pause. "I can't come down, I'm in the middle of a term." Another, longer pause. "Thanks for telling me anyway, Resa. Bye." Shaking her head slightly, Belle tucked the phone back into the recesses of her bag, only then noticing the steaming cup.

"Three fifty," Adam said.

"Thanks," Belle muttered, handing the coins across. The pub fell silent once more, interrupted only by Belle alternately sipping and blowing on her drink. Adam started chewing the inside of his lip again, stomach churning in nervousness at what he wanted to do next.

"Belle?" She looked up sharply again, confusion written across her face. "I - uh - I feel bad about how we started off." _Great start, genius, now try and make it sound like the TRUTH_. "I was, uh, wondering if you'd like to make it up over dinner? Say, around eight?" _Terrific. You've really made it seem genuine. Well done, Darensbourg._

"Sorry, I - I don't - I'm busy." Belle hitched her bag onto her shoulder, and drank quicker.

"Why?"

"I don't really see how that's your business."

"I just want to know why you're rejecting me." Belle placed the cup down gently, and straightened up so that, with the added height of the bar stool, her forehead was directly in front of his line of sight.

"Why I'm rejecting you, let's see - you've been _nothing_ but rude to me since I came here, you act as if you'd rather be anywhere than the same room as me, and _I don't like you._" She hopped off the barstool (with much more grace than Cogsworth had earlier that evening) and marched toward the door.

"Where are you going - it's still raining!"

"I don't care!" Belle shouted, pausing in the already half-open door. "I do not like you, Adam Darensbourg, but I am prepared to live with you. Just not on my own!" She slammed the door behind her, and it rattled throughout the deserted bar.

**A/N: Phew! They reeealy hate each other right now! Hopefully in a chapter or two the 'West Wing Intrusion' will happen and all this introductory stuff can be over and done with. And yes, you will find out what Resa Gerard told Belle, but not yet. Not yet. **

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Belle stumbled into the pod, her hair plastered to her face and clothes completely saturated with water. Cogsworth and Lumière started up from where they lay half across the table, and Babette rushed towards her, peeling Belle's numb fingers away from the strap of her bag.

"Is it just me or is it raining outside?" Belle forced out through chattering teeth, attempting a smile.

"Come on, Belle, get out of those wet things and have a bath to warm you up, _non_?" Babette asked forcefully, peeling away Belle's jacket and skilfully untangling her favourite blue ribbon from her web of dark hair. Shakily, Belle nodded and edged towards the bathroom, visibly shivering with goosebumps layered up her arms. "Lumière, _amour_, put the kettle on," Babette ordered, rubbing the younger girl's arms vigorously while frog marching her out the living room.

"At your service, _mon ange_," he replied, stretching like an over-indulged cat before snapping into action. "Just tea?" he shouted from the kitchenette.

"Y-yes please," Belle stuttered, barely audible over the sound of running water. "Thank you!"

"No problem, _mademoiselle_," he grinned, even though Belle couldn't see it.  
Babette stalked out the bathroom, and started rummaging through the cupboards while the kettle made its earthquake-like rumble.

"Biscuits are under the cutlery drawer," Cogsworth proffered, still sitting on his chair.

"_Merci_," Babette nodded, poking around for a jammy dodger. "Why are you not going to do anything - leave all the work to Lumiére and myself?"

"Because, _mon ange_," Lumière smiled, squeezing her waist as he reached for the tea bags, "my dear friend Cogsworth cannot cook to save his life, huh?"

"I tried making pancakes for Adam's twelfth birthday and - through no fault of my own, may I add," Cogsworth admitted, "I broke four plates and set off the fire alarm. Twice."

Babette and Lumière looked at each other, entertained the thought of _not_ laughing for a brief moment, and proceeded to shriek profusely. The kettle clicked off, and Lumière stirred Belle's milk and sugar into the tea. Babette moved over to the bathroom door and knocked gently.

"Belle?" she called.

"Yeah?" The sloshing of water was heard, and the door opened a crack.

"Your tea is ready," Babette said, handing the mug and biscuit through the door.

"Thank you! I hope you and Lumière and Cogsworth are having some too - I'd hate for you to go to all this trouble just for me."

"No need for any feelings of guilt," Cogsworth intoned from his seat on the table.

"I feel confident that you would do the same for us."

"If you don't mind," Lumière asked, "would you mind telling us how you got this wet and cold? I'm sure there are an abundance of cafés and bars in Dunbroch."

"I did go in one, but, uh, Adam was there and we had a disagreement," Belle said, sipping her tea. "I just kind of ran out after that."

"What sort of disagreement?" Babette asked, sitting down at the edge of the doorframe.

"Oh, you know, the usual - _il me regardait bizarrement, m'a invité à sortir - dieu sait pourquoi - et a les boules quand j'avais dit __non. Trou du cul_."

"Ahem - Belle, I am aware you speak French, but I do not and I am still in hearing range," Cogsworth coughed pointedly.

"I know," Belle said, moving so that the corner of her earthy eye was visible through the door, "but I feel bad when I insult him. He's your cousin - it's not _your_ fault I don't like him."

"Anyway," Lumière said, standing up suddenly, "shall we be nice to you and say you're asleep when he comes in from work?"

"It's ok - I'll probably _actually_ be asleep by then anyway - but thank you for the gesture," Belle replied. "Now if it's alright with all of you, I'm going to shut the door and get on with my bath."

* * *

Half an hour later, Lumière and Babette had gone out to one of the other small bars in town, Cogsworth was studying, and Belle was finally out the bath. Flushed pink, she dashed the short distance between the bathroom and her bedroom, rubbing the ratty blue towel over her shoulders once she was concealed within. Fumbling around for her dressing gown, Belle scooped all her hair into her towel and settled into her favourite part of a bath - reading while her hair dried. Unfortunately, Belle had learned the hard way that she was just too clumsy to read while actually _in_ the bath, but this way was still nice.

She knelt down beside her bookcase and ran her fingers delicately over the spines, tapping them like piano keys as she hummed a tune under her breath. When she had finished a new book and was looking for something to re-read, Belle inevitably went for the 'It-is-the-book-that-chooses-the-reader,-Mr.-Potter' approach. She always screwed her eyes up tight, extended one finger out like the E. T. poster and, swirling it in concentric circles, suddenly jabbed at a random title.  
Her mother used to light candles in honour of it.  
Now, Belle opened her eyes at the ribbed, well-read texture of the spine before her. _Jane Eyre, _she thought. _Brilliant. _Smiling, she pulled it out, only for the front cover to fall away and all the pages to flutter to the floor, birds falling on an autumn hunt.

"Oh," she said. _I forgot. George got his hands on this._  
Belle jumped up suddenly, leaving the tattered remains of her most-loved book on her floor, and scrambled around the room quickly getting dressed. _I'm sure there's a bookshop somewhere in town. You can get a new copy - just dry your hair and go, Lecteur._

"Hair dryer . . . hair dryer . . . Cogsworth, have you seen the hair dryer?" she called, scurrying out her room.

"W - what?" Cogsworth blinked heavily, half-asleep on the kitchen table.

"Hair dryer. Where is it?"

"Adam's room," he mumbled, settling back down underneath his textbook.

"Okay," Belle whispered, facing the door. "Okay, just in and out and down to the bookstore. Yeah, I can do this. Yeah." She reached out, hand on the doorknob. Belle glanced back once to the pod door, steeled herself, and gently eased herself in.

* * *

It took her a minute to adjust to the darkness, as the curtains had been closed tightly and all other sources of light were switched off. Blindly, Belle felt the wall for the switch, keeping the pats as quiet as she could. When her fingers managed to press down on it, the relative brightness caused her to wince, shielding her eyes with her hands. Keeping her gaze as far away from the contents of Adam's room as possible, Belle quickly scanned the floor to find the hot-pink hair dryer Resa had given her for her seventeenth birthday. _There it is, _she smiled. _Right on top of the_ _wardrobe_.

She picked her way across the floor, dramatically slipping on a discarded pillow case haphazardly left out, before Belle was finally in front of it. She stretched up, grabbed the nearest part of the hair dryer she could reach (the cord) and lightly pulled, only for something hard and sharp to fall on her head, before the hair dryer clunked onto her shoulder and then the ground.

"What's this?" Belle muttered, picking up the sharp object.  
It was a photo frame. A man, woman and child smiled out at her from their confines. The man was short, stout, but with kind, piercing blue eyes and balding hair. His wife, Belle assumed, was significantly taller, with deep brown eyes and a shimmering mane of auburn hair. The little boy in between them was unmistakably -

"What do you think you're doing?" Belle whipped around in shock, dropping the photo on the floor again to face the little boy in the photograph ten years older - a furious Adam Darensbourg.

"I - I'm sorry - I was just looking for my hair dryer and -"

"What are you doing with that?! _Why_ are you looking at that?!" He took a step forwards, and Belle straightened up, backing away slowly. If she thought his eyes had flashed fire before, it was nothing compared to the animalistic fury contained within them now.

"I'm sorry, it just - it just fell down when I was getting my hair dryer -"

"GET OUT!" He was nearly in her face, and Belle shoved him as hard as she could, knocking him into the wardrobe, and ran out his room. "GET OUT!" he yelled again.

"Belle, what is it, what's the matter?" Cogsworth was wide awake, waddling behind her as fast as he could.

"I'm sorry, Cogsworth, I tried, I really did, but I can't stay here another minute!" Belle hauled the door open and raced out the pod, feet flying, hair slapping her face, eyes burning with tears that were destined to never fall.

**A/N: If you know where we are in the movie, you know what's happening yet. **

**It has taken me ten chapters to write 30 minutes of screen time. This is ridiculous. **

**Reviews make me happy :)**

**Oh yeah, and Belle says "He looked at me weirdly, asked me out - God knows why - and got pissed off when I said no."**

**EDIT: A _very_ helpful guest reviewer gave me a correction in the French I used (because I am lazy and have been using Google translate instead of _actually_ translating.) They also pointed out that I've been spelling Lumière wrong the entire time, so I'll go back and correct those. Thank you! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Belle stumbled out the swinging doors of the reception area straight into a bone-chilling wind and rain nearly horizontal. Within seconds her clothes were damp and her eyes blurry, not with tears but rain. Still sobbing dryly, she stumbled into the main area of Dunbroch, searching for a taxi or a bus or _something_ to get her home, away from here. _But you _can't_ go home, _she thought. _George is there._

"I can still get a train to Inverness," she said out loud.

_And then what?_

"I'll figure it out later." Resolved, Belle flicked up her hood and jogged away, trying to ignore that Cogsworth would probably be looking for her out the window of the dorm, or calling Lumière and Babette in a panic. She just had to get out of there, preferably without getting anyone more hurt than they already were.

* * *

"ADAM VINCENT DARESNBOURG!" Cogsworth shouted, storming into his younger cousin's room as fury shot out of his eyes and his very moustache trembled with passion, "_WHAT_ ON _EARTH_ DID YOU SAY TO BELLE THAT MADE HER RUN OUT SO SUDDENLY?"

"I told her to get out," Adam said flatly, sitting small on the edge of his bed.

"Why?!" Cogsworth shouted, pacing up and down in one of the few ways that made the short, stout man seem threatening.

"She was looking at the picture." He shifted slightly.

"It doesn't _matter_ if she saw a picture of you - are you crazy?!" Cogsworth stopped in front of his younger cousin, glad that regret had doused his temper for the time being. "What was even in it?" he asked, tutting.

"Mum and Dad," Adam said.

As suddenly as Cogsworth's rare temper had been awakened, it died down again. Awkwardly, he reached a hand out to Adam's shoulder. His cousin flinched and stood up quickly. Neither of them looked hurt by the exchange.

"It's beginning to snow," Adam said quietly from the window.

"She doesn't have a jacket on," Cogsworth said urgently.

"First snow of the year," Adam muttered, "on the first of November."

"Adam, Belle's out there all alone - she'll be freezing cold." He moved so that he was directly behind Adam.

"She hates me. We failed. I'll be disinherited."

"You remember more than anyone how dangerous snowy nights can be." There was a heavy silence.

"Fine," Adam said, turning around quickly and picking up an old blue coat that used to be his father's. "I'll go talk to her or something. But I'm not making any promises."

* * *

It was hard for Belle to remember exactly when the freezing rain had _actually_ frozen and turned into snow. Her hood was still bunched tightly around her head, strands of her dark hair flying wildly around her face, held down only by her numb fingers. She found herself wishing she hadn't put on trainers and instead worn her boots - her lovely, cosy, _waterproof_ boots . . . Despite the pains in her feet and the violent shivers, Belle was still tramping along at a good pace, and she was nearly halfway towards the bus station before she realised something was wrong.

She was being followed.

With the expertise born from long practise, Belle glanced into the nearest shop window and saw them. Two large, heavy-set men - one slightly shorter than the other - laughing jovially and quite obviously following her through the abandoned street. It was already dark at five by this time of year, and Belle let one of her hands fall from her hood to feel around in her jacket pocket for her phone - more specifically, the torch on her phone. She glanced into another shop window, and it seemed they were waking just a little bit faster, with a little more purpose. Belle picked up the pace in turn, head burrowed down to try and avoid the much larger snowflakes that fell now. A snatch of conversation carried across to Belle on the wind.

"Come on, mate, she's fit - keep going, you're gonna lose her!"

_Oh god, _Belle thought. _Oh god oh god oh god help me please. _She was nearly at the bus stop now. She could see the metallic roof only a few feet away. A large object smacked into her rain-soaked hoodie, and as Belle staggered, the icy wetness suggested it was a snowball. _Oh god HELP ME!_ she nearly screamed, breathing quickly.

"Jackpot!" The two men crowed, and as Belle was righting herself so she didn't slip on the ice, they chucked another one - this time letting the ice _just_ graze the side of her face. Belle cried out quietly, the sudden shock causing her to lose her footing, and she fell on the ice.

"Watch out sweetheart," one of them joked, "it's a bit slippy up here!"

"Lemme help you up," the other, bigger one mumbled through a fog of liquor, grabbing her elbow with painful tightness and hauling her up roughly.

"Let me go," Belle said, trying - and failing - to twist her arm out his grasp.

"Oh, now, now, y'see - that's not gonna happen," the smaller one leered.

"Let me GO!" Belle stamped hard on the bigger man's foot, and in the intervening second she wrestled her elbow away and started to race back to Main Street. Her body pumping with adrenaline, she barely got three metres before the smaller man yanked her back to him with a strength she wouldn't have expected from his small stature. His right hand clamped around her wrist, while his other arm wound its way sneakily around Belle's waist, pinning her to him in some twisted form of a ballroom dance. She struggled, trying to worm her way out, but the man merely forced her arm down to his waiting hand and grabbed the back of her neck, his nails scraping on the delicate skin, tugging painfully on her small hairs.

"Well," he murmured in her ear, as Belle shook in unbridled terror, "this is going to be . . . _interesting_."

Suddenly the large man screamed. Belle and her captor both turned in unison, as a tall, muscular man lunged at him and began punching and kicking him with gusto.

"Dan!" The short man threw Belle to the ground, kicking her in the stomach for good measure, before running to help his friend. As she gasped for breath, she could see her tall defender punch her attacker at least twice, the small man quickly changing from attack to defence. The large man got behind him, and smacked him straight into the wall of the building next to them. In the orange-yellow glow of the street lamps, Belle was able to see his face.

Adam was the one trying to save her.

Truth be told, the attack on his head hadn't seemed to deter him much - Adam barrelled into the large man's stomach again, and his small friend finally grabbed his arm and pulled him away, back to the relative darkness of Main Street. Once he was satisfied they were gone, Adam turned to Belle, and only now did she see the blood running down his forehead. They stood there for a second, frozen, before Adam staggered, reached a hand out to try and reach the wall, and collapsed on the snowy ground.

Belle stood up shakily. Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of the bus pulling up. She turned towards it, knowing it was the last bus of the night. _Go, _a part of her whispered. _You were going to do this anyway - go!_

But the larger, better part of her mind said, _Adam _just_ saved your life. The least you can do is help him._

_This is your last chance to go and find Papa!_

_If you leave him here, he'll die._

Belle pivoted away from the bus, barely paying attention to it as it pulled away. She slipped and slid over to where Adam lay, a small patch of snow already turning pink with the blood from his head. His bright red hair was across his face, and Belle noticed that, like her, his shoes weren't waterproof. Grunting, she heaved the unconscious man up, draping him across her shoulders.

"Come on," she muttered. "Let's get you cleaned up."

**A/N: Wow, sorry for the delay! School, y'know? Anyways, it should be fairly obvious what scene this is.**

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: While Adam's head wound isn't graphic, there are a ****_lot_**** of blood mentions in this chapter, so just be warned. **

**Chapter 12**

"Cogsworth!" Belle slammed her fist against the door again, hardly caring about the pain smarting through her knuckles. She still had one arm wrapped tightly around Adam's waist to stop him from falling; she'd had to haul him up and drag him all the way back to the dorms, on her own, in the driving snow. She was lucky there hadn't been any cars out, Belle reflected as she pummeled the small door again. "Cogsworth, let me in!" Adam started slipping out her small grasp again, and again Belle had to awkwardly grab for his belt and pull him up over her body, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his hip and the thinner skin of his wrist as she pulled his left arm over her shoulders again. His bloodstained head rested on her shoulder, and Belle noticed with some relief that the bleeding appeared to have stopped. A few crimson drops had fallen on his coat as they had walked, turning the dark blue a deeper purple in spots, and Belle noticed that her own blue hoodie had a large brown-red patch where Adam's head had kept falling. "Cogsworth!" she yelled again. As a last resort, she kicked the door. Finally it opened, to reveal a significantly paler, trembling Cogsworth.

"Belle," he gasped, "what on earth -"

"I don't have time for questions right now," she interrupted, barreling past him and depositing Adam on the nearest chair. "I need you to boil some water and pour it in a bowl - make sure the water is boiling hot when you pour it in. Are Lumière and Babette here?"

"No, Belle - but -"

"Okay," Belle said, pushing Adam's hair out his face and wound, "that means you'll have to go down and get Mrs. Potts for me - I've been taking to her a bit over the last few weeks and she said she used to be a nurse, so we'll need her in case Adam has to go to the hospital." She glanced up at the overwhelmed man, and noticed the panic in his eyes.

"Cogsworth," Belle said urgently, "I _need_ you to focus. I know it's a lot of blood, but head wounds do that. We have to clean him up so I can tell how big the wound is, okay?"

"Okay," Cogsworth gulped, turning to the little kettle and flicking it on, before loudly searching the kitchen for a bowl.

Forcing herself to walk through her ever-increasing state of exhaustion, Belle hurried to her room, grabbed the first hair tie she could see, and swished back into the main living area, tying Adam's long, ginger hair out the way. The kettle grumbled, and Cogsworth paced over, careful not to let a single drop fall out of the ceramic bowl.

"Thank you," Belle smiled, and the older man seemed to relax a little. "If it's not too much trouble, could you pass me a clean towel, please?"

"Of course," Cogsworth said, dashing in and out of the bathroom in a trice. "I'll go and get Mrs. Potts then," he added unnecessarily, and he quietly shut the door behind him.

Belle let out a deep breath. She swirled her fingers through the water a little, checking that it wasn't _scalding_ hot, before dipping in a small corner of the blue hand towel and dabbing at Adam's forehead. She stood over him, letting the light shine on his face, and as the blood was washed away, Belle noticed absently that when he wasn't scowling, Adam actually looked . . . _nice_. As if he wasn't the same person who had screamed at her a grand total of three times, but rather the little boy in the photo she had seen.

Looking back, Belle mused as she soaked a different part of the towel, the photo had probably been something important to him for Adam to start yelling even before she even said anything. From what she could remember of it, Adam seemed to have the piercing blue eyes of the man and the flaming red hair of the woman there. _So, definitely his parents,_ Belle mused as she started wiping the crusted blood off his cheek. _But why was he so upset? It's not like they had -_

Adam's breathing shifted slightly, and Belle took a half step back. She wasn't afraid of him, but regardless of the fact that he had saved her life, she still didn't like him. He groaned quietly, and his eyes fluttered open, screwing themselves up against the light. Belle was glad, now, that a lot of the blood had been washed away. It had been bad enough for _Cogsworth_ to see his cousin coated in his own blood - Belle could hardly imagine the terror felt waking up with your own face covered in blood.

_Actually, _she remembered, _you can. _

"What - what's going on?" His voice was small and frail - surprisingly so, Belle thought - and he reached up to touch the medium wound on his head.

"Don't touch that," Belle said quickly, lightly grabbing his wrist. "You were thrown into a wall, and I've not finished wiping the wound clean." Surprisingly, Adam was obedient, letting his hand fall to his lap with no further protest.

"How long have I been out?"

"About half an hour," Belle said, glancing up at the clock to verify her statement. "You might be concussed; Cogsworth's gone to get Mrs. Potts in case you need to be driven to the hospital."

Adam closed his eyes again, his brow furrowing.

"Mind telling me your name?"

"You _know_ my name," Adam muttered, opening his sky-like eyes to look into Belle's earthy ones.

"Yeah, _I_ know your name, I just want to make sure that _you_ know your name." She swirled the towel around the pink-tinted water, and frowned. "One second," Belle said, and in a swift motion she poured the bloody water down the sink and clicked the kettle back on. "So," she rejoined as the kettle bubbled, "your name."

"Adam Darensbourg," he sighed.

"Age?"

"Twenty."

"Birthday?"

"Has it occurred to you that since you don't know me all that well, for all you know I'm a raving lunatic just pulling these numbers out of nowhere?" The kettle clicked off, and Belle turned away again.

"I can always check the accuracy of your statements with Cogsworth when he comes back," she said as she refilled the bowl. "Okay," she hummed, saturating the towel again, "I'm going to try and wash the wound. This might stung a little." She dabbed experimentally at Adam's cut, and he let out a roar of pain, flailing his hands and knocking the towel out Belle's hand.

"That hurt!" he yelled reproachfully, in response to Belle's look of utter hatred.

"For the _love_ of _God_ will you stop being such a baby!" She grabbed the towel from the floor and started wiping away again. "It wouldn't hurt so much if you'd just _hold still!_"

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't run away," he grumbled as Belle's surprisingly strong fingers held his head in place.

"If you hadn't frightened me I wouldn't have run away," Belle rejoined, still being as gentle as when he was unconscious.

"Well _you_ shouldn't have been looking at my things," Adam argued, trying had failing to _not_ sound like a petulant teenager.

"Well _you_ should learn to control your tempter!" Belle said, holding his angry gaze. His jaw set, and for a moment it seemed to Belle he was going to start yelling - _again_ - and they would argue - _again_. He half-rose from his seat, but Belle pushed him down again.

"I haven't finished," she muttered. "I need to clean this." Adam relaxed back into the seat, but his eyes never left hers. "By the way," Belle added, "thank you. For saving me." Flushing, she deliberately focused on the (relatively) small cut instead of Adam's piercing blue eyes.

"You're welcome," he said stiffly. "Belle - I meant what I said, earlier. I do think we, uh, got off on the wrong foot. And I realise that was my fault. Do you want to start over?"

"Sure," Belle said. "That'd be nice." She smiled quietly, and took a step back. "That's you all cleaned up. I'll get a plaster."

**A/N: Yay Belle and Adam don't hate each other any more! **

**The dialogue from "This wouldn't have happened if" to "control your temper!" is taken from the movie, which I do not own. **

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